Imogene in New Orleans (24 page)

Jackson loosened his grip. He studied Leonard’s face. “You live in Algiers? I mean, you and Lena live in Algiers?”

Lena spoke up and said, “Yeah, we been over in Algiers since the last hurricane hit New Awluns, Camille in 1969. I left the old place after the storm. Seem more safer over there.”

“You live near Buddy?” Jackson asked, looking at the young man in overalls. Catfish nodded.

Imogene stepped closer to Jackson and Billy. “That paintin’ ain’t at Lena’s house, boys. Me and her already got it and put it at Lena’s shop for safekeepin’. It’s the one with the big boat, got sails on it like from olden time and a whole bunch of rough folks, ship hands and such like that from years back. And there’s a man standing on the front of the boat, holdin’ one of them telescopes. Ain’t I right, Catfish?”

“Yep, that’s the very one, but I didn’t know you and Mama took it.” Catfish rubbed his skinned-up elbow.

“Boy, say ‘yes, ma’am’ like I taught you,” Lena said, nearly hissing at her son.

“Okay, Mama. Dang. Yes, ma’am. That is the correct painting. I’m a grown-ass man and you fussin’ at me like I’m still a child.” Leonard started pouting.

“Son, you’ll be living on this here street by your lonesome if you don’t cool that mouth.” Lena folded her arms and glared at Leonard.

The boys couldn’t stop looking at Imogene with a mix of frustration and amazement, after hearing about the painting and its transfer from Algiers to the praline shop uptown.

She met their glances and said, “Shoot, what y’all lookin’ at Maw-Maw ugly for? Back up a minute. Y’all didn’t believe I’d even heard about Pirate, except from what was in the Gilbert boy’s book. I told about my trip to that Lafitte pirate shop saloon in the Quarter and meetin’ the barkeep, but did you believe Maw-Maw McGregor? Nooo, you didn’t. Only Lena did. And she’s the one that drove me to fetch the paintin’ at her house. Shoot, this old dog’s lived a lot longer than you boys can ’count for.”

“Fine, Imogene. You were right,” Jackson said. “So what do we do now?”

Imogene looked at her son-in-law. She stuck out her lower lip, which she sometimes did when she was meditating on a problem. She rubbed the side of her wide-brimmed hat. “I’d go over to that rough lawman’s place and get them figurines he took from the Gilbert boy, like you told Neil you was gonna do.”

Jackson cocked his head at Neil for telling Imogene his plan. “And how are we supposed to know where that is? The lieutenant’s house, I mean.” Jackson took his hands off Catfish’s overalls, but he kept an eye on the young man’s gutting knife.

Imogene said, “Tell ’em, Lena.”

“Baby, you know I got people. I been sellin’ pralines and gumbo since before Hurricane Camille. Leonard found dat cop’s address. He don’t live far from the Old Mint down in the French Quarter, where we goin’ to boogey at the Satchmo Fest. We still goin’, ain’t we?” She looked at Imogene.

“I reckon so, sister,” Imogene said. “I didn’t come all the way from the great state of Alabama just to help these boys on a murder. I deserve a vacation, all I’ve done. Shoot.”

Lena gave Jackson the keys to her shop, so he could retrieve the painting. “You ’member where you hid from that ol’ donkey, Rogers?”

“Yes, ma’am. How could I forget your attic?” Jackson took the keys.

“Dat’s where me and Imogene hid the Pirate paintin’.” She wiped the dust off Catfish as he stood up beside her. “Listen at me. Only thing is, you know how come Glenway always painted people he knowed?”

“Yes, like he painted your son Leonard in that bayou scene on your shop wall.” Jackson stared at Leonard.

She nodded. “You right. Well, in dat picture for the Lafitte pawty and anniversary Glenway was paintin’, he made Jean Lafitte look a heap like that Lieuten’nt Rogers. Might near exactly like him, I should say.”

Jackson shot a look at Billy and then Neil. “You mean to tell me Glenway Gilbert painted Lieutenant Rogers in the image of Captain Jean Lafitte, the most famous pirate in New Orleans history?”

Imogene answered first. “Sure as day, son. I seen it with my own eyes. The Gilbert boy made that gruff lawman into the famous pirate and him standin’ like the chief of chiefs, wearing a big wig. And you know what else, boys? Rogers was standin’ on top of a cockeyed pile of gold on that ship, like he’d just found treasure and was proud of hisself for it.”

Jackson rubbed his head. “But who got the painting from Glenway and when?”

Lena stepped forward. “Leonard told me ’bout the painting of the pirate man. He seen it at Glenway’s shop. He said it looked like the lieutenant, so then I told Leonard to go fetch it after Rogers toted Neil to the jailhouse. But it wasn’t at Glenway’s art place on Royal Street, so I tell him to go see if the lieutenant got it and sure ’nuff he did. That’s where Leonard found the painting and he brung it back to the house.” Lena dragged her foot across the pavement, focusing on the ground like she was ashamed to tell what happened.

“Why did y’all hide the painting in your shop?”

“’Cause, baby, after I seen Rogers jail Neil and then chase you all over creation, I know he wadn’t a man to mess with and I told Imogene about the painting. Me and Imogene both reckoned we need to have something ’gainst him, just in case he try to act up some more.”

“You mean, you were going to use it to blackmail Rogers?” Jackson looked at Billy and then Imogene. He saw Lena wink at Imogene.

“Yeah, baby, if it come to that.”

“We were considering the same tactic ourselves.” Jackson moved closer to Billy. Catfish stirred on the pavement. “I want to know why Leonard—umm, Catfish—returned to Glenway’s studio after he was killed just to get a hat.”

Lena rubbed Catfish’s back. “He was just doin’ as his mama say to do. Like I said about that Lieutenant Rogers, I didn’t want Leonard bein’ accused of killin’ Glenway. I asked him to pick up the hat after Imogene showed me the pictures she took. I seen it on the shelf in the photos and I know like I know my name they’d be after him. My son ain’t a killer, Jackson Miller.”

“How do you know, Lena?” Jackson glared at her.

“’Cause I just do.”

“Well, I’m not convinced. I appreciate you being good to Imogene, but I’m sure Catfish knew about the loan Glenway Gilbert gave you and also that Glenway agreed to relieve you of the debt upon his death. To my mind, Catfish had a great reason to kill Glenway. Plus, he attacked Imogene just for following him. No telling what he’s capable of doing after a few drinks.”

Catfish picked up the gutting knife and slammed it into the sheath on his hip. Jackson saw him balling up his right fist. Lena hobbled over to him and smacked him so hard on the head his mesh hat went flying against a window.

“Boy, I told you to cool it and I mean it. Now, you apologize to Imogene McGregor and do it now ’fore these boys call the law on you and I let ’em. You know better than to act this way, all like you a bad Leroy Brown.”

“Mama, if he accuses me of murder one more time you’ll see how I act.” Catfish massaged his head where Lena had popped him. She raised her hand again and he flinched. “Okay, stop it. You’re embarrassin’ me.” He turned to Imogene. “Miss Imogene, I’m sorry I grabbed you. I wasn’t trying to attack you, as he said.” Leonard shot Jackson a pointed look. “I didn’t know what you were doing following me. I won’t bother you no more.”

Billy unhitched the Velcro on his cuff. “That’s good enough. Mama shouldn’t have been following you in the first place, Leonard. Maybe she’ll think before she goes off on her own again. I’m sorry we chased you in the carriage. It wasn’t my idea, believe me.”

“It’s a’ight, man.” Catfish picked up his hat and gently put it on his head, grimacing from the sting of Lena’s whack.

Jackson shook his head. “Y’all can act like everything’s all right, but I promise you one thing, Leonard. I’ll have my eye on you from here on out. It would be in your best interest to leave us alone.”

Neil stepped in front of Jackson and whispered, “Listen to me. Don’t make this situation worse. Let’s talk about it later. Just trust me.” Jackson felt Neil nudging him away from the group.

Neil turned to speak with Imogene and Lena. “Y’all go ahead to the Satchmo concert at the Mint. Billy, are you all right with that?” Billy nodded. “Good. Jackson and I need to check on that pirate painting at Lena’s shop, and when we find it, we’re heading to Lieutenant Rogers’s house.”

Twenty-Three

Again, Imogene was right. She and Lena had hidden the picture,
Pirate’s Triumph,
painted by Glenway Gilbert in the attic where Jackson had spent a few uncomfortable moments. The minute Jackson saw Lieutenant Rogers decked out as the person of Jean Lafitte, he told Neil, “Glenway knew that Rogers was a thief.”

Neil’s mustache quivered. “I wanna punch a hole through this painting and hang Rogers from the roof of Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop.” He held the painting at arm’s length. “You’re right, Jackson. Glenway was trying to tell it. He used Rogers on purpose—to show he knew Rogers was an actual pirate himself.”

“That sounds like something Glenway would do, and I bet he picked those nicknames on purpose. Probably chose the scenes for his paintings on purpose too.” Jackson looked at Neil as he remembered the picture Thurston had in his condominium of Neil and Allen on the sugar plantation. “Glenway Gilbert spoke through his work.” Jackson tilted his head.

“Yup.” Neil opened his phone. “We should go ahead and report Rogers. I don’t think our plan to blackmail him will work. What if we don’t find evidence that Rogers stole from Glenway?”

He started dialing numbers, and Jackson grabbed the phone. “Not yet. Let’s put this painting in your study and go to Rogers’s house. We have to try to find something to incriminate him. I’m getting more and more convinced that Rogers has stopped us and chased us and arrested us so he could profit from Glenway’s art. It’s no coincidence that he’s supposedly investigating the murder, but seems to be more interested in us since the day we found Glenway. We just need proof that he actually has Glenway’s work. Let’s go. Just trust me.”

Neil relented, and in a few moments they were on their way to Rogers’s house in the French Quarter. Lena had described where Lieutenant Rogers lived to the exact latitude and longitude. Neil found it without issue. He had dropped off the seniors and Billy at the Old U.S. Mint on Esplanade, where the finest music in the city floated through the streets. Jackson and Neil could still hear the sounds from the Louis Armstrong Festival as they approached Rogers’s place, conspicuous by the several law enforcement stickers plastered against the front porch windows. Jackson let Neil out to go check the house and make sure it was empty.

Jackson parked behind the house and walked through a vacant lot to get to the back of Rogers’s property.

In a few minutes, Neil crept into view. “It’s clear. His car’s gone and no one’s in that house.”

They looked over the fence. There was no gate leading into Rogers’s yard from the fence. Neil put his hands on the boards and tried to hoist himself up.

“No. I’m going in, Neil. I need you to keep a lookout.”

“I thought we were both going in. I want to help.” Neil scratched his forehead just beneath his golf cap.

“If Rogers shows up, I need you here to let me know.”

“What if you can’t get in the house?” Neil peered between the cracks in the fence.

“I’ll find a way. Just be ready to call me, please.” Neil made a few unpleasant huffs, as Jackson pulled two cinder blocks to the fence. He stood up and looked for a good place to jump. Just on the other side there was a lattice trellis and then a bench. Jackson couldn’t swing his leg over without grabbing the lattice. It wasn’t built for a big boy’s weight; it had construction staples protruding from the underside. As he shifted over the wooden fence, he felt the lattice cracking under his grip and a staple stuck him. He slammed to the concrete bench feetfirst. It sounded like he had smacked it with his forehead. Neil put his lips through two planks in the fence. Jackson saw the hair from his friend’s mustache poking through as Neil whispered, “You all right?”

He felt like his foot had dipped into a pot of “boilin’ watuh,” to quote Lena. His foot emanated a certain fire, and all he could do was hold it and breathe quick, shallow breaths. He put some weight on it and then grimaced. He plopped down in the lone chair in his adversary’s courtyard.

Neil smacked the old fence boards. “What the hell? Do you want to get caught?”

Jackson responded. “I can’t move till my foot stops burning.”

Neil murmured, creating a sort of hissing noise with his mouth between the fence planks. Jackson got up limping like Imogene. He cussed under his breath. He would have preferred to go through the front door, where he thought he could find the key, but Neil said there were too many passersby on the street, coming and going from the music festival. He wasn’t certain he could get into the house by himself, a possibility of which Neil reminded him before and after he fell over the fence.

Jackson stuck to his plan, though. “Rogers is prowling around this city, stealing and selling figurines. He could’ve easily killed Glenway Just hang tight and keep your eyes out for him. I don’t want him catching me in his house.” Neil sighed and Jackson tiptoed through the garden courtyard.

The door to Rogers’s house was old and rickety. The paint was peeling, as with many houses in the city. A curtain obscured the view inside, so Jackson could see only the shadowy outline of the kitchen. He fiddled with the door knob for a moment, then turned it twice and it opened. He glanced over to see Neil’s mustache protruding through the fence. Jackson called out, “Only in New Orleans would someone keep their door unlocked in the middle of town” Jackson could see the very tip of Neil’s golf cap over the fence.

“I’m shocked,” Neil called back. “Him being a cop and all. But hurry up, Jackson. I’ll call you on your cell if I see anyone coming.”

Jackson checked his phone to make sure it was on, then he ducked inside the kitchen. He crept over the avocado-colored tiles and stopped at the arched door leading to the dining room. It felt exciting and illicit to take a tour of the place, especially because Rogers had given him and his friends such trouble. The room was cool. The difference in the temperature between the courtyard and the kitchen was so striking that Jackson wondered how he kept it that way. He crept through a den and passed modern furniture with silver-plated lamps and a fluted-glass chandelier with four bulbs hanging in the shape of flames. The room led to another sitting area. He made it to the front door at the end of the hall when his phone began vibrating.